


A Little Bit Peculiar

by Megara Bee (Megara_Bee)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Peculiar Children AU, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Smut, technically underage but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megara_Bee/pseuds/Megara%20Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumbelle Christmas in July Gift for thedoobly-dont, who prompted: Peculiar Children AU (Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children). (Note: You do not need to have read the Peculiar Children books to follow this fic)</p><p>Rumplestiltskin has lost the only two women who ever cared for him. Driven by the mysteries they left behind and a treasure trove of old photographs, he goes on a hunt for answers that leads him straight to his heart's desire: a Peculiar girl named Belle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Chapter One

Rumplestiltskin stepped off the boat onto the misty shore and began to wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake. The angry bearded man, for whom Rumple had no name but ‘Captain’, loudly demanded his fare.

“I didne row yer hackit arse out t’ th’ middle o’ nowhere to be stiffed! Pay up, laddie.”

Rumple pulled the pennies from his pocket and handed them over. “You’ll be back in a week, as we agreed?”

“Maybe. Rumor has it the Krauts are comin’ this way, and I’m not riskin’ my life for ya. Good luck!” Captain pushed off, and Rumplestiltskin watched his only escape bob away on the tide.

He was too poor to pay a real ferryman to take him home, and even if he could, there mightn’t be anyone on Cairnholm willing to make the journey. It was arduous and long, and in rough waters, perilous to boot. Climbing up the path from the beach, Rumplestiltskin looked around at the place he’d heard so much about.

It didn’t look like much. Rolling green hills poked from the penetrating fog, and a church bell echoed from somewhere confirming that there was a town beyond the sightless white mist. His breath came hard and ragged as he reached the summit. The path was visible for only a few feet. He started down, following the church bell.

He’d heard dozens, hundreds of stories about Cairnholm from the aunts who’d raised him. He wasn’t sure if he believed the fantastic tales, levitating girls and invisible boys, time frozen, birds who smoked pipes; but Rumplestiltskin believed in truth. And if there was any truth to be found, it would be here on the island.

Besides, at least some of the stories _had_ to be true. There were photographs, hundreds of them, filling albums and hat boxes and wooden chests. His aunts had hoarded them like treasures, articles of a past in danger of being forgotten. He’d spent hours as a boy poring over them, memorizing them, loving them the way his aunts did, the way he loved them. Flora and Merryweather had taken him in when his father had abandoned him; they had been mothers and aunts and teachers… they had been everything.

And now they were gone.

The hamlet did not mourn his aunts. They’d long been suspected of witchcraft, and only their talent for weaving and spinning had made them tolerable to the small community. So when their cloaks were found tattered and hanging from a tree miles away, no one had bothered to look into it. No search parties, no suspicions, no tears shed.

And Rumplestiltskin was alone again.

So now he was on an island off the coast of Wales, deposited and abandoned by an angry man with questionable nautical experience, already feeling tired after only ten minutes of walking on his bum ankle, and he still couldn’t see the damn town for the fog. What a miserable place.

The increasing cold and darkness meant that night had descended. Rumple pulled his threadbare coat tighter around his narrow frame. After another ten, maybe fifteen minutes of stumbling down the path, he came to a large barn. He could just make out the light of a farmhouse fifty yards away; if he got up early, they mightn’t ever know he was here.

Cracking open the large wooden door, Rumple surveyed the barn in the half-light of the moon. Two mares were curled up on either side. They raised their heads in evaluation of him, but, like most people in the world, found him to be totally non-threatening. He limped into the barn, the door closing behind him, and made a bed for the night in a pile of straw. It was rough but would keep him warm and alive.

If he was a rich man, perhaps he might find an inn on this island. Perhaps some elderly widow would allow him the comfort of a wool blanket on her hearth. But these were dreams of a different life, and had little value in cold reality. No one wanted a man no stronger than his bed of straw.

He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and withdrew a single photograph. Of all the pictures and portraits his aunts had collected over the years, this one held the most power over him. A girl, lit from behind by an open window, stared into the camera with a mix of amusement and intrigue. She was beautiful, the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. The secret was her eyes, which were piercing even in the black and white of captured film. She seemed… dangerous, like she could hold her own. She was strong.

He’d spent hours creating stories about her. When he was spinning, or tending the sheep, or cooking, or scrubbing the hearth, in all his moments of abstraction she was there. Sometimes he saved her from Nazis like a true hero; sometimes she saved him. Sometimes they lived together quietly in the countryside with a few good cows and a litter of their own. Sometimes his thoughts were more sinful, and he hated his own depravity but, God, he would love that woman. Not that he knew anything about love or sex or how to please someone else, but in his head he could be the Don Juan such a divine person deserved. In his head she was never disappointed.

He spent a few minutes looking at the photograph, trying to uncover her secrets, before he tucked it back into his pocket and turned his mind to fantasy. In her arms, he fell asleep.


	2. Part One: Chapter Two

He was awoken at first light by a soft muzzle rubbing his cheek. The horse exhaled and blew Rumplestiltskin’s shaggy locks away from his face. He sat up and smiled at the beast. Raising a hand, he watched as the mare pressed her maw into his touch. He stroked her gently. “Sorry I don’t have any food for you. I don’t have any for me either. Perhaps I ought to go find some, eh? That’s a good girl.”

He clambered to his feet and patted the mare’s flank on his way out of the barn. The sun was still hidden behind the peak of a hill, but the sky was already lit in a variety of blues and golds. A chilly breeze on his cheek explained the clear morning air, no doubt having blown the fog out to sea. Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, and set off for town.

His ankle was aching by the time he got there. A wood sign banging in the wind advertised food and drink, and the laughter he could hear from a block away gave his heart a cautious joy. He entered the Priest Hole.

The laughter stopped. He approached the bar and took a stool. All eyes were on him.

“You’re not a familiar face.”

It was more of an accusation than a question from a man at a table behind him.

“No sir, I’m not. I’m just visitin’.”

“I didn’t hear of any boats bringin’ strangers in,” said a man at the end of the bar.

“A man named Captain rowed me over in a dinghy late last night.”

“Last night, ya say? And where’d ya sleep, perchance?”

Rumple turned to face the newest speaker. “Under God’s beautiful sky. I cannae afford a room, but I thought I might have enough to buy a simple meal.”

The bartender grinned and reached across the counter to slap Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder. “Alright, lads, give the boy a break.”

“He could be a Kraut spy!”

“Or he could be a poor Scot in need of a meal. Let’s err on the side of generosity, hmm? Tell us, stranger, what’s yer name?”

“Rumplestiltskin.”

“Now I know he’s a Kraut! Who else would invent such a ridiculous name?”

“Shut it, Seamus,” the bartender said. “I had a cousin called Spindleshanks. If you keep up this rabble, I’m throwin’ you out. How about some vegetable stew, Rumplestiltskin? Just a penny a bowl.”

“I thank ya for your kindness.”

“I’ll be righ’ back.” He turned and disappeared through a door. As soon as he was gone, some of the other patrons stood and formed a half-circle around Rumplestiltskin. He swallowed hard.

“So, Spindleskin, what brings you to Cairnholm? Here to signal the Nazis?”

“No, sir. I’m looking for a place… but I’m not sure what it is.”

The men laughed. “You don’t know what you’re lookin fer?”

“No sir. My aunts lived here for a spell, I think. Was there some sort of… women’s shelter or, or refugee center here?”

“A women’s shelter? No, no… but there was an orphanage in the woods, wasn’t there?”

“It wasn’t an orphanage, I think it was a cult.”

“No, it was definitely a school for all them little abandoned babes. It’s all gone now, though. Just disappeared one day, or so they say.”

The bartender returned with a bowl of warm stew, catching just the end of the conversation. “What’s this now? Disappearing school marms?”

“This boy Spindleskin is looking for the old school that was up in the woods,” said the man who had previously accused him of being a spy.

“No, it was down by the Lannister’s farm,” rebuttled a bearded man who smelled of fish.

“You’re balmy! There’s a path through the bog to the old woods on the other side of the island. That’s where it was.”

“My grandmother used to talk about that place, and she swears it’s down the coast by the Lannister’s.”

“Oh, my apologies, it’s your gran that’s balmy then.”

“You son of a-”

“Quit it!” hollered the bartender. “Rumplestiltskin, if you’re looking for something old then your best chance is to talk to an old person, ay? Go down to the church. Ask for Father Tom. He’s near ninety, now, and not always so talkative, but if you can get him going, I’m sure he’d know where you can find the old orphanage. I’m not sure you’d find much there, though.”

Rumplestiltskin (who had been scarfing stew even as he listened) swallowed hastily. “Well the people had to go somewhere, didn’t they? I mean, if they didn’t come back to town…”

“There’s no harbor on the other side,” said the bearded man, answering the unasked question. The room went quiet. “You might find rotten corpses up there, lad. Or maybe you’ll fall into the bog and join all them children in the afterlife.” He gave a crude laugh and Rumplestiltskin shuddered.

The bartender waved the men back to their own tables, bribing them with a round of beers. Once the masses were distracted, he returned his attention to the scrawny spinner.

“Pay no mind to them, Rumplestiltskin. They don’t take kindly to strangers. I will warn you, the bogs here are Welsh. They’re stronger and more deadly than anything you’ll have faced back home.”

Rumplestiltskin, pulling a penny from his pocket to pay the man, gave a shrug. “They might be more deadly than our bogs, sir, but nothing is more deadly than a group of angry, ignorant Scots. Many thanks for your kindness.”

Gathering his coat around him, Rumplestiltskin nodded to the man he’d come to think of as a friend and exited the noisy tavern.

As he walked the bare stretch of road, he quickly realized that not even a rich man could have found an inn on this island, for there wasn’t one. They really weren’t keen on strangers.

Following instructions, he found the church and stepped inside. It was plain, but the sun filtering in from the high windows lit it up and, for just a moment, Rumplestiltskin felt the comforting hand of God on his shoulder. He knelt before the altar and prayed. “Thank you for bringing me here safely. Please help me leave safely, as well. And please, wherever they may be, look after my Aunts. Amen.”

 

“Can I help you, my child?”

Rumple turned, stumbling when his bad ankle collided with a pew. “Oof! Ah hello, Sister,” he said, addressing the nun who had emerged from a corridor in shadow. “I was told to ask after a Father Tom.”

“By whom?”

“The man, the man at the Priest Hole. I didn’t catch his name.”

“Ah,” she said, giving a small smile, “that’d be Tom the younger. And for what do you need the Father, may I ask?”

“I’m inquiring about the history of this island.”

“Then Father Tom will be an excellent resource. Follow me please…?” she said, drawing out the silence to politely request his name.

“Oh, um, Rumplestiltskin.”

“How unusual. This way.”

He followed the thin woman to a secluded rectory richly decorated with Celtic tapestries, where a small bundle of blankets sat with a bible in flickering candlelight. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Rumple realized that it was a person. The man was old, very old, and hardly seemed to notice the two people who had entered.

“Father Tom? You have a visitor.” The nun ushered Rumple over to sit before the man.

“Is that my Tommy? No, no, the face is all wrong. Who are you?”

“I’m a stranger, sir, come to ask you for information.”

The man just stared at him with milky eyes.

“Was there some kind of… orphanage, here on Cairnholm? Run by a group of women?”

“The ol’ school, yes,” he croaked. Rumplestiltskin felt the stirrings of hope for the first time all day.

“Where? When did it disappear?”

“There was a Miss Something-or-Other… wasn’t there… who ran a school by the old man’s cairn. The island’s riddled with ‘em, course, that’s how we got the name, but the oldest one is up there in the woods. Now the children…The children came from all over, weird things… we never saw them ‘cept when they arrived. Batty old lady, used to hit me with her purse on market days. Then they… well, something happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, what happened?”

“Nobody knows. Weeks, months went by before anyone noticed. No supplies went up, no bodies came down…” The man paused, and made eye contact with Rumplestiltskin for the first time. “We knew what we’d find. We were too scared, you see. Imagine the Welsh, scared! But… but we’re of the cloth. We didn’t want… didn’t want to know…”

Rumplestiltskin put his hand atop the old man’s and gave him a smile. “It’s okay, Father. It’s alright.”

“God forgive me… God forgive…” He trailed off, eyes returning to his bible. It was as though Rumplestiltskin wasn’t even there.

“Come,” the nun whispered. Rumple jumped; she was sneaky, that one. He followed her back to the main room of the church.

“Would I be correct in thinking that you’re going to try and find whatever remains of the school on the south side of the island?”

He nodded, and winced. His ankle was throbbing dully.

“You won’t make it in those shoes. I believe we have some extra boots, and perhaps a coat. If you wait here, I’ll look.”

“I’d be much obliged, sister.”

She nodded and disappeared down another corridor. Rumple sat in a pew and rubbed his leg. He silently summed up his situation to keep the gnawing fear and worry at bay. His journey was not for nothing; there _had_ been a school on this island. His aunts might have lived there. By sunset he’d find it, or whatever was left.


	3. Part One: Chapter Three

He didn’t know how his aunts could have gotten off the island without anyone knowing, and it bothered him that he actually didn’t know how long ago they’d left. He’d been in their care for twenty-odd years, but how long had they been in Scotland before that? And what type of school needed to be so secluded that no one noticed for months if they disappeared? There was something rotten on the isle of Cairnholm. 

The nun reappeared with a bundle in her arms. “I found you some boots, and a warmer coat, although it’s a bit threadbare.” He slid on the proffered clothing, and felt a heavy bulge in one pocket. He patted it cautiously. “Water, in a stone flask. You’ll need to keep up your strength. And I found this,” she said, handing him a long knotted stick. “Father Tom must have a dozen walking sticks, and he never goes anywhere. Be careful in the bog, Rumplestiltskin.”

“I cannae repay your kindness, sister, not in a dozen lifetimes.” He fumbled in his pocket. “Here, I’ve two pennies to spare. Please, take it for alms.”

“Thank you Rumplestiltskin. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” With that she departed.

For a secluded community that discouraged strangers, these people were amazingly kind. Rumplestiltskin took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then leaned on the stick and raised himself from the pew. There was nothing left to do but go, and pray for the best.

Sometime in the early afternoon, he reached the woods and collapsed against a tree. He’d lost count of how many times he’d nearly slipped into the bog and left no trace in this world. The murky puddles lining the path seemed innocuous enough, but sometimes, when he slipped, the bog sucked around his boot and it took all his strength to break away. A better man, a bigger man, might have done it with ease, but this journey was taking more from Rumplestiltskin than he had to give.

By his estimation, he’d walked for at least three hours, maybe four. He curled up in the roots, feeling horribly small, and guzzled from the ceramic jug until it was half empty. He had to save some for the trip back.

He’d only closed his eyes a minute, but when he opened them again he could see from the sun that another hour had passed. With no idea where in these woods the building might be, or even reassurance that it existed, and the sun slowly setting….

The bog was beginning to feel easy.

Determination. He needed determination. Calling the image of the mysterious girl to the forefront of his mind, he stood on shaky legs and leaned on the sturdy walking stick.

The path through the woods was clear enough. Rumplestiltskin, being of a somewhat apt nature, supposed that this was the path to the cairn Father Tom had mentioned. He thought he remembered a story his aunts had told him about a famous cairn, one of the first discovered by British explorers. Of course there were silent quotation marks around “explorers”; the things they discovered were neither new nor lost, and often these men served little purpose besides carving a path for imperialism.

After a while he felt a chill that stopped him in his tracks. To his left was something that could not be described as a ‘path’ so much as a strip of grass 6 wide winding its way through clusters of rocks and trees. It disappeared after a few yards. The trees seemed denser on that side than on his right. It was ominous.

He didn’t like it one bit.

A breeze blew and Rumple watched the shifting shadows; then the breeze stilled, and the shadows kept shifting on their own. The forest was watching him. His stomach churned.

And yet he felt with absolute certainty that the school, if it could be found at all, would be found down that spindly road. He had to face his fears.

“If only you were real,” he whispered, fingers pressing against the pocket where he kept the photograph. “I could be brave for you.”

Gripping the staff tighter, Rumplestiltskin plunged into the dark.


	4. Part One: Chapter Four

His bravery was rewarded. Twenty minutes of gripping fear and uncertainty, of panic rising in his throat, fighting the urge to turn and flee with every footstep, finally he emerged in a clearing and stared up at the ultimate prize: a house.

It was gloomy in the twilight, and Rumplestiltskin knew it was abandoned. It looked dark, and he could _feel_ its emptiness beneath his skin.

It had been this way for a while, but was still recognizable as a symbol of civilization. The plants had started to take it back, creepers exploiting any weak points for entry into the building. It was beautiful, actually; in addition to ivy there were several varieties of roses growing up the walls. Rumplestiltskin limped over to the closest wall and leaned against it, grateful for a moment’s rest. He plucked a flowering bloom from the building and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply. He slipped the torn stem through a buttonhole on his borrowed coat.

Taking a few shaky breaths, Rumple steeled himself to enter the manor. Surely, he told himself, signs of death would be apparent from the outside. He wasn’t going to find bodies. He wasn’t going to find anything.

“Be brave for her,” he whispered to himself.

The door creaked and shuddered as he pushed it open. He was engulfed in a cloud of swirling dust that forced its way into his nose and throat, choking him. He sputtered, waiting for it to clear.

Inside was a well-preserved, if dusty, parlor. The furniture was elegant but worn. The last traces of sunlight came in from the west, and Rumple searched for matches to light one of the candelabras scattered around the house. He didn’t find any in the parlor, but through a large entryway was the kitchen, just as dusty and disused as the other room, and also as corpse-free as his heart could desire.

He stuck several of the long-stemmed matches into his pocket and returned to the parlor. As much as he longed to sit down for a bit, take some time off his aching ankle, the house was getting darker and more ominous by the second.

Rumple struck a match and lit a five-pronged candelabra. He picked up the heavy appliance and looked around; there was a long hallway off to the right, and a looming staircase to his left. He didn’t fancy hobbling up the stairs only to break a leg on the way down. The hall had half a dozen doors, give or take, all closed. He imagined the rooms branching off like leaves on a twig, as innocent and bright as the first signs of spring.

Despite his poetic talk, he still held his breath and trembled every time he pushed open one of the doors. He didn’t find any bodies, though, only a growing mystery about the disappeared inhabitants of this dusty mansion. There was one room full of little clay soldiers and single black socks; another full of red things, quilts and feathers and hats, representing every shade from strawberry to crimson. Rooms with children’s clothes, rooms with toys, rooms with nothing at all.

There was only one room left, at the very end. Rumple tucked his staff under his arm and put his hand on the knob. A shiver in his gut told him that this room was different and, sure enough, he looked down and saw a glimmer of light beneath the door. Someone was here.

He couldn’t retreat now. He’d come too far. In a moment of bravery (or stupidity) he pushed open the door.

A library flickered into view, the largest collection of books Rumplestiltskin had ever seen in his life or was likely to ever see again. There were candles around the room, half-melted, but shadows hung thick in corners and between shelves. Rumplestiltskin edged into the light and looked around. He didn’t see anyone, but as the light flickered and a chill came over him, he realized that one of the large windows along the far wall was open.

Rumple whirled around at the sound of footsteps coming from the balcony. The flash of his candelabra and the stutter of his step attracted the attention of the girl, and she dropped the heavy book she was reading.

His heart stopped beating.

It was her.

The girl from the photograph he kept over his heart was there, in the flesh, real and alive and in this house. Before he could form words she was running; her skirt was unusually short, on the cusp of being immodest, but as she slid over the elaborately carved railing and dropped to one of the rolling ladders, he could see the practicality of it. The ladder wobbled precariously and Rumple lunged towards her on instinct. With one swift kick to a shelf she was rolling away, with another jump she was on the ground and running towards the open window.

If he didn’t start moving, he’d lose her. Maybe forever.

He started running. His gait was laughable, and he dropped the heavy candelabra and adjusted his grip on the staff. The girl didn’t pause as she leapt up onto the bench seat and dropped down out the window; he didn’t pause either, but it took him longer to clamber through the opening. He hit the dirt on all fours. As he got to his feet he saw that she was already forty, fifty feet away and about to hit the tree line.

There was no way he could catch her, but he also couldn’t stay in the garden of an abandoned house while a girl he had previously thought was a figment of his imagination made a mad dash through the forest. Rumple forged ahead, chasing the white color of her dress through the trees. His lungs burned and every step on his bad ankle made his vision blur, pain shooting through the limb. After what felt like an eternity, he was clear on the other side. The girl was disappearing into a stone walkway he recognized. This was a cairn; given their trajectory, it was probably the famous one he’d heard about. And the girl wriggled her way in.

Why would she trap herself?

He reached the entrance a few moments later and, gripping his staff tight to his chest, slid sideways into the tomb. He had to hunch down, knees bent, and continue sideways down the dark shaft. It got smaller and smaller, until he was crawling. The earth was damp and cold. Rumplestiltskin understood what it felt like to be a corpse.

He imagined the girl waiting for him at the end, frightened and angry and dangerous. He remembered how it felt to be beaten by someone frightened and angry. Reaching forward with his hands he felt the ground level out, and the walls turned to open the corridor into a small room. He could stand up again. Shaking, he used the staff to get onto his feet.

“H-hello? Are you in here?”

No one answered.

He skirted the room, hands skimming over rocks and dirt and fungi, but he didn’t find any bodies, dead or alive. It was totally impossible.

He sighed. The only way out was the way he’d come in. Slowly and with diminished hope, he crawled back out and caught the very last sliver of daylight as the sun set beyond the horizon. Standing in the doorway of the cairn, he suddenly felt the edge of a blade at his throat.

“Scream and I’ll kill you.”


	5. Part One: Chapter Five

The girl was on the grassy hill beside the cairn’s entry. Without pulling the blade from his throat, she dropped to the ground behind him.

“What are you?” she hissed.

“I’m… I’m Scottish. I’m just a spinner. I’m nobody.”

“Quit lying! What were you doing in the house?”

“Looking for… something. I don’t know.”

“I said don’t lie to me!” The blade pressed tighter against his skin. “What were you looking for?”

“Answers! I was… I need… my aunts…”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He felt her arm tense and tremble. A moment of hesitation before the death blow.

“You!” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth as fear overtook him, choking his words before they could leave his throat. “My breast pocket. I have a picture of you. I was look…looking f-for you.”

The air changed. Rumple felt a heat coming from the blade and bucked away from it instinctively, hissing. There was a clatter as it dropped to the ground, the girl grabbing her wrist and breathing audibly. Leaning against the rock, Rumple looked at her.

A flame danced around her fingertips. Slowly, it retreated back into her skin as the girl took deep, measured breaths. And then she looked at him.

Her eyes were more bright and piercing than he could have ever imagined. Perhaps her flame lit them from behind, gave them the intensity that was currently directed at him. Rumple felt his jaw go slack, all pain forgotten as he stared. She was magnificent. She was _real_.

“The picture,” she said, gritting her teeth, “let me see it.”

He fumbled to pull it from his pocket. The girl reached for it but he pulled it back. “No, please don’t touch it. It’s all… it’s all I brought with me. It’s all I have.”

She nodded. He lifted it to show her her reflection. The same eyes, the same hair, though worn now in a different style. The same girl. And as she studied herself, he studied her. She was older than he’d thought, probably 18 or close to it, only a handful of years younger than himself.

“Where did you get that?” she asked breathlessly. She was no longer interrogating him, her bearing more gentle.

“It belonged to my aunts.”

“Where did they get it?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, isn’t there?” she asked, her tone one of curiosity rather than malice.

He gave her a small smile. “Yes, I suppose there is.”

“Well, perhaps I can lay one mystery to rest. My name’s Belle. Belle Bloom.”

“Rumplestiltskin.” They shook hands, and Rumple could feel the tingle of her magic on his palm.

“Oh dear, I really hurt you!” she said, eyeing the cut she’d give him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were like us. I thought you might be a wight.”

“A wha-” He lost the ability to speak as she closed the gap between them and reached up to gingerly touch his neck. Her weapon, which he now recognized as a letter opener, had made a shallow cut across the bottom of his neck where it met his shoulder, and her burst of flame had singed him slightly.

“I am so sorry, Rumple…stiltskin? Is that right?”

“Rumple is fine.”

“Well, Rumple. Come with me. We’ll get that cut treated, and perhaps Madame Loup-Garou will have some answers for you.” She smiled at him, the most dazzling look anyone had ever bestowed upon the likes of an orphan spinner, and took his hand.

Perhaps he had died in that cairn and this was Heaven.

“Come on,” she urged gently, leading him away from the mouth of the tomb and back into the forest.

“Where are we going?”

“The house, of course.”

“But it’s empty. And it’s dark… we wouldn’t be safe.”

She cocked her head at him. “It’s not empty. It’s actually past curfew, everyone will be home but me.”

“I was in that house, Miss. No one had been there for years.”

“Well of course not, but now we’re in the loop. And please, call me Belle.” She smiled again and squeezed his hand. “Come on! The longer we’re out here, the more trouble I’m in!”

She dragged him back the same way they’d come, Rumple and his staff struggling along. Belle never let go of his hand. His ankle would be unbearable tomorrow, but he found it difficult to care. Literally speaking, he had his dream girl in the palm of his hand; he’d let her drag him to hell and back before complaining.

Eventually they exited the woods again. Rumple looked up at the house in shock. Light poured from every window, shadows bustled about, and he could hear the laughter of children. This was not the dusty relic he’d left –what, thirty minutes ago? This was a thriving home.

Belle pushed open the front door and drew him into the parlor. A lanky blonde boy leaning against the fireplace whistled.

“Looky here, Belle’s brought home a stray.”

The children –though he now realized that was an inaccurate term, their ages ranging from about 7 to 17- began to chatter. There were a few laughs and whistles, mixed with taunting cries.

“Some-body’s in trou-ble!”

Belle ignored them. Her attention was focused exclusively on Rumplestiltskin, much to his shock and joy. “Come along, Rumple. I’ll take you up to see our headmistress. Whale, bring your kit up to her office.” The tall blonde boy nodded at her, smirking, and headed down the corridor.

Belle took him up the stairs and down the hall, knocking demurely on an oak door.

She turned to look at him, and must have seen the ashen color of Rumple’s face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb.

“This is impossible. Everything about this is impossible,” he whispered, trying to quash the panic in his chest.

“It’s not impossible,” came a woman’s voice from behind the door. It opened, revealing a woman in grey. She was both stern and kind-looking, and somehow familiar. “It’s just a little peculiar. Welcome, Rumplestiltskin,” she said, stepping back and inviting him into her office. “We’ve been expecting you.”


	6. Part One: Chapter Six

“Miss Bloom can wait outside, I think.”

“No,” he blurted. “I mean, I’d rather she stayed. If that’s alright with you,” he said, turning to Belle.

Her eyebrows rose, lips parted. “Oh, sure. Sure I’ll stay. Is that okay, Headmistress?”

“As long as you both come in and stop wasting my time.” The woman turned, retreating to her desk. Rumple and Belle followed, sitting in the two armchairs across. Rumple was reluctant to let go of her, but it would have been awkward to lean across the gap just to take a girl’s hand.

“Would I be correct, Rumplestiltskin, in assuming that you know very little about our institution?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me ask you this: have you ever seen anything, done anything that you can’t explain? Perhaps you took it for slight of hand, or an illusion; perhaps it was a feeling, deep in your gut, that you couldn’t explain.”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I’ve had gut feelings, but just the ordinary sort.”

“What about your aunts? Did you ever see them do anything out of the ordinary?”

“No…I… I don’t know! Please, Madame Loup-Garou, give me a straight answer. I’m tired and I’m hungry and I’m without a soul in the world. I just need to know what this place is. Did my aunts have a connection here?”

“They did, yes. This place is a school, as you probably know, and currently I am the only teacher. But we used to have two more. Your aunts, Flora and Merryweather, used to live here. Moreover, they were two of the most talented _syndrigast_ that I have ever seen. Syndrigast is a word meaning “Peculiar people”, in the old tongue. Many of us have chosen to adopt that word, Peculiar, as a moniker that denotes our abilities which separate us from the common people. It’s predominantly an inherited trait, though it sometimes skips a generation… or ten.

“Some Peculiar gifts are more common, like mind-reading, and others are rarer, like weather manipulation, levitation, or my own skill, time manipulation. Now, I need to ask you another question, Rumplestiltskin. Have you ever had a draught in your village?”

“A drought? No ma’am.”

“Any floods, or lightning strikes that killed cattle?”

“No ma’am.”

“Not one natural disaster to speak of? No ill-mannered weather patterns?”

“We did have a nasty wind once. Aunt Merryweather was laid up for a week.”

“You presumed the chill caused the sickness, but in fact it was the other way around. And Flora… she had a sort of shuffle to her step.”

“She did.”

“Weighted shoes, to keep her tethered to the ground. She had a nasty habit of nicking the biscuits I kept on the top shelf of my office. I used to find her floating against the ceiling, holding her stomach and groaning like a sick cow!” The woman laughed, smiling despite her austere nature.

Rumple smiled, too. “And you can change time?”

“Yes, I can. The most important use of my gift has been to create this loop, a haven for myself and for the children you met downstairs. You explored this house in your time. What year is it for you?”

“1941.”

“Here, it is April 14th, 1878. It is always April 14th. The same day happens over and over on this island, and we are the only ones who register the difference. One more question, Rumplestiltskin. How old do you think Miss Bloom is?”

Rumple turned a bright shade of red. He turned to look at Belle, who was tinged pink and looking at him with mild concern. She was worried about him.

“A man should never comment on a woman’s age, Ma’am.”

Madame Loup-Garou smirked. “She has been here since we started the loop. Belle, how old were you when you came to us?”

“Seventeen, Headmistress. I was born in 1861,” she said, turning to Rumple. She gave him a sympathetic smile while he did the math.

“You’re… you’re eighty years old?”

“That’s right.”

“You look great for your age, in that case.”

Belle laughed, and Rumple felt his heart skip.

The headmistress cleared her throat politely. “I think that’s enough information for tonight. It’s getting late, and you have a wound that needs tending. You’ll find Mr. Whale in the hallway ready to patch you up. Before you go, I must ask one thing of you, Rumplestiltskin. What happened to your aunts?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. It seems that’s all I can say these days,” he said, wringing his hands in his lap. “They disappeared one day while I was out. I searched the town, I searched the country… I found their cloaks, ripped to shreds and hanging from a tree miles away from our home. I’d like to think they’re alright somewhere in this world, but, uh…” He felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes. “But I know how cruel this world is, ma’am. It’s no secret to me. A lame, poor spinner with Peculiar aunts…” He gave a harsh laugh as the tears forced their way out. “I know what this world is.”

He stood, relying on the staff. Belle stepped to his side and took his free arm. Her warmth at his side was an undeniable reassurance that the world would keep turning and he would be able to walk out of this office on his own two feet.

“Thank you, Madame Loup-Garou. Thank you for telling me the truth.”

“You’re welcome, Rumplestiltskin. There’s a spare room down the hall. One of the boys can show you. Sleep well, children. Oh, and Miss Bloom, we’ll address your breaking of the curfew tomorrow as well.” The woman turned and exited through an adjoining door, presumably to her own room.

Belle guided him by the elbow back out into the hallway. The blonde boy was indeed waiting, leaning against a wall as though he had nothing better to do than lurk and lean all day. Belle sat Rumple on the top step, leaning his cane against the wall. She sat cross-legged behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. Whale sat beside him.

He had a small burlap sack from which he withdrew a bit of rag, and a small vial. “It’s a little burned around this cut. That your work, Belle?”

“You know it is, Victor. I thought he was a wight. I spooked.”

“Yeah, big scary man with a cane. How old are you, anyway, stray?”

“He’s not a stray! Don’t make me scorch you. His name’s Rumple.”

“I’m 25.”

“I’m 90,” Victor smirked. “You’re just a pup to me.”

“Just because a year passes doesn’t mean you grow up,” Belle countered. “Can you help the cut or not?”

“Yeah yeah,” he muttered, dipping the rag in the vial. “I’ll put a little antiseptic on it to keep it from getting infected.” He dabbed at Rumple’s neck and the spinner jumped.

“That stings!”

“Are you a boy or a man?” Whale, once done wiping the shallow cut, put his things back in the bag and pulled out a string of bandage. “I need some flour. I’ll be right back.” The lanky boy took the steps two at a time and disappeared from sight. Belle scooted to sit beside him.

“Again, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s alrigh’,” he said softly. “An honor to be hurt by you.”

“Me? I’m no one special.”

“You make flames dance in your hand like fireflies. You made the most incredible escape from that library, the way you jumped and ran! You must be terribly brave.”

She blushed again. “My mother used to say, ‘Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.’ I hardly think reading in a library is a brave thing, but since I can’t go out on great adventures, it’s the next best thing.”

“I can understand that. But, why did you leave the, uh… the loop, in order to read? The library is here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s never quiet here. And we aren’t supposed to be out of the loop very long, so it’s a bit of a rebellion to leave. I like a little rebellion now and again.”

Rumple smirked. “I always imagined you would.”

Belle withdrew a little. “I wanted to ask you about that. The photo you have… why do you have it?”

“My aunts had them, hundreds of them. I used to play with them as a child, imagining myself in the magical world captured on the film. Everything here is vaguely familiar, and I suppose it’s because I’ve seen it all. I just forgot.”

“But, why my picture? Why did you bring it all the way here?”

Rumple turned bright red again, realizing that there was no way out of this conversation. “I never… because… well… You have books to take you around the world on fantastic adventures. I had you. And this,” he said, tapping his temple. “I guess I never grew out of that. And when I decided to come here, I knew I couldn’t bring all of them. I could have taken a handful, maybe, but, well…. there was only one that mattered, in the end. I’m sorry, I must sound like the wrong end of a donkey. A mad donkey.”

Belle smiled, and scooted back so that their knees touched. “No, it’s alright. I don’t know what I would have done without my books. I understand.” She reached into his lap and gave his hand a squeeze. “Besides, I’ve never been someone’s imaginary friend before. My ego is in danger of growing too large for my head.”

“I’ve got two arms. If it gets too big, I’ll carry it for you.”

She laughed and bumped him with her shoulder. “Since you know me so intimately already, can I ask you a personal question?”

He nodded, shaggy hair falling in his eyes.

“What happened to your leg?”

Rumple looked into his lap and took a few deep breaths. “They beat me. Nobody in the village particularly liked my aunts, but they really hated me. All the boys went off to war –we’re fighting a global one, a second global war- and I stayed home. My aunts told everyone they couldn’t do without me, but that’s not the truth. I’m a coward. I was afraid of dying, being ripped apart by bullets or bombs or both… so I stayed home. The men who couldn’t go, or went and came back… they didn’t agree with my choice.

“They beat me badly, broke my leg and my ankle and half the bones in my foot. Cracked a rib and left me with a few bleeding wounds, too. My aunts brought in a doctor from the next town over, spent all their savings, and he fixed me up as well as he could. I spent a few months in bed, but the ankle never quite healed.”

“Does it hurt much?”

“Yes, but I deal with it. What other choice do I have?”

Belle opened her mouth to say something, leaned in towards him, but Victor Whale came bounding up the stairs and leaned over Rumple. He grabbed the bandages.

“Hold still.” He rubbed a floury hand on Rumple’s neck, then wiped it off on his shirt over the plane of his abdomen. He unspooled the bandage and rewrapped it around the spinner’s neck. Once he’d tied it off, he grabbed his bag, shoved the bandages in, and took off down the stairs. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Belly-welly. The wolf is watching.”

Belle bristled. “Go kill some mice, Vicky.”

As soon as he was gone, Belle took Rumple’s arm and guided him to stand. She handed him his staff. “I’ll show you your room. Whale’s sort of useless.”

She took him to a room near the library’s second floor entrance. It was sparse, but a fair sight more elegant than anywhere he’d ever lived. He sat on the bed and sighed, already feeling the exhaustion that comes from a day of exercise, adventure, and grandiose life discoveries.

“If I’m by the library, does that mean you’ll come visit me?”

“In your dreams, maybe,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Hey, you’ve seen what I can do. You never told me what it is you can do.”

“Me?” Rumple asked, incredulous. “I can’t do anything. I don’t have powers. I’m not special.”

Belle quirked her eyebrow and tipped her head. “Oh, I guess she didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Loops are special,” Belle said, taking his hand once more and holding it tight. “Meaning they can’t be entered by common folk. You’re as special as they come, Rumplestiltskin. You’re one of us.”

Before he could close his jaw or wrap his mind around what she’d just said, Belle swooped in and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight, Rumplestiltskin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that she turned and left. It was a while before it occurred to him to strip and climb into bed. This was the strangest life he had never imagined for himself, and Belle… Belle was proving to be every bit the woman he’d imagined, and then some.

The blankets were heavy and clean, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Rumplestiltskin went to bed warm, safe, and indescribably happy.


	7. Part Two: Chapter 7

Rumple was woken by Victor throwing a pair of dirty socks at his face. “Wake up, pup! Breakfast is in ten minutes.”

His clothes were gone and a clean stack had been left on the dresser. Beige pants, a plain white dress shirt, and a pair of suspenders replaced his dirty and threadbare farmer’s clothing. A little part of him preened to think of Belle seeing him in these fine clothes. Stopping in the bathroom on the way to breakfast, he splashed some cold water on his face and wiped away the dirt that had begun to gather after two days on the island. Clean and dapper, he headed down to the dining room.

A long table was surrounded by the children, Madame Loup-Garou sitting primly at the head. They had left a seat for him beside Belle, a thought which made his heart flutter, and he took it gratefully. She pointed out her favorite dishes as they gathered plates full of food, and she insisted he take a second helping of potatoes.

“You’re too thin, Rumple. Don’t you eat?”

“When I can.”

She lifted her gaze to his face. He saw worry and concern etched on that beautiful face, but not pity. He couldn’t stand to see pity.

“Well, we’ll just have to fatten you up then,” she said, giving him a smile. Sliding her hand beneath the table, she found his and gave it a squeeze.  

“So, what can you do?”

“Yeah. What’s your gift?”

Curious eyes turned to him from all around the table.

“Oh, um, I don’t know,” Rumple said.

“I can read! And I can talk to birds,” chirped a little girl.

“That’s an excellent idea, Mary Margaret. Why don’t we all tell Rumplestiltskin what we can do? Around the table, if you please.” The headmistress nodded at the next child. Rumple listened to all their stories, each more unbelievable than the last. Victor, he learned, could re-animate the dead by using the hearts of others. There were strong women, girls who could see through walls, even a boy whose mucus was also a truth serum.

Finally they got to the last girl, seated next to Madame Loup-Garou. Belle whispered in his ear that she was the older woman’s granddaughter. “I do what Gran does,” she said, tearing into a piece of bacon.

“You can control time?” Rumple asked.

“Not yet. That takes a lot of practice. I’ve got the wolf thing down, though.”

“Wolf… thing?”

The girl, Ruby, gave him a grin. Suddenly her teeth seemed sharper than average. “Yeah. I turn into a wolf. So does Gran. But I think it’s a lot more fun than she does.”

“R-really? An actual wolf? Teeth and fur and everything?”

The girl nodded with pride.

“I can’t even imagine… the strength you must have. You could do a lot of good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I suppose you’re pretty safe here in the loop, but not everywhere is so safe. If you lived somewhere else, if you ever found yourself in trouble… well, you’d be able to protect the people you care about. That’s quite the gift.”

Belle squeezed his hand more tightly. He hoped that being a sap had been fashionable in 1878, because he seemed to do an awful lot of simpering around her.

“But we are in trouble!” cried the girl who talked to birds. “The wights are gonna find us!”

“And the hollows,” added Victor, “don’t forget the hollows.”

The youngest children started crying as if on cue.

“That’s enough!” hissed the headmistress in Whale’s direction. “Everyone finish your breakfasts. Miss Bloom will be taking over the dishes this morning as punishment for breaking curfew.” Belle’s hand grew hot in his grasp, and she tried to pull it away. Rumple held on, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

“Rumplestiltskin, please come to my office when you’ve finished eating. I’ll expect you shortly.” With that she stood and left. Rumple noticed that she was flexing her wrists; a habit of stress, or worry perhaps.

Belle exhaled and dropped her head back. “Figures she’d make me do dishes. I hate doing dishes.”

“I can stay and help. I owe you one, if not two or three.”

“No, she’ll be waiting. You’d better go on up.” Belle looked around at the children cleaning their plates before leaning over and planting another quick kiss on his cheek. The action didn’t go unnoticed, and was met with whistles and hoots. Rumple turned crimson. Belle ignored them.

He stuffed a couple more bites into his mouth, dabbed it with a napkin, and stood to go. His ankle, true to form, was throbbing today. It took him a few minutes to get up the stairs. When he knocked on Madame Loup-Garou’s door, she opened it almost immediately.

“I expect you have more questions.”

“I do. What are wights and hollows?”

“Take a seat. I’ve told you what we are, but not how we came to be. We used to be a group, all the Peculiars. It wasn’t a government, not exactly, but we had organization, and we had purpose. Then a group decided that our goals weren’t big enough; it wasn’t enough to control time. They wanted to live forever, to break the laws of time and become Gods among mortals. They started dangerous experiments, and everyone involved, I mean _everyone_ , was caught in an explosion that destroyed three villages.  My own brothers were leading the experiments.

“But they didn’t die. They became… they became something much worse. The hollow is a creature of nightmares, and they are invisible to us. We can only see their shadows, so they attack almost exclusively at night. They feed on Peculiar children because, if they eat enough, they become a wight. Wights look like their former selves, they become people again, but without their former powers and without any of the compassion that once proved their humanity. Their eyes are the only way to know them; they have no irises or pupils. They help their hollow brethren in the acquisition of children. It’s the most loathsome thing in the world, but it’s true. Hollows cannot penetrate loops, but wights can.

“So you see the truth of us, no,” she sighed. “As much truth as I know how to give you.”

“That’s… that’s horrible.”

“Do you understand what the loops are now?”

“They’re havens, aren’t they?”

“Yes. But I think there is one more component, and I have to ask you to listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“We cannot leave the loop, Rumplestiltskin, not permanently. If we leave and re-enter the world at your time, all the years that we’ve lived will catch up to us within a few days.”

“But what if you continued on from here? April 15th, 1878.”

“Then we’d live out our years being hunted and chased by the hollowgast. Our only choice is to stay here.” She stood, flexing her hands on the surface of her desk. “I fear you aren’t grasping my full meaning.”

Rumplestiltskin looked at her, unsure of what could possibly be worse than everything she’d already told him.

“Your displays of affection with Miss Bloom have not gone unnoticed.”

And then he understood. She could never leave the loop.

Rumple stood suddenly, a pit in his stomach. “Please excuse me, ma’am. I need to get some air.”

“I understand.”

He limped out of her office and out of the house with surprising speed. He reached the forest and didn’t stop. About five minutes in, he saw a clearing where rings of mushrooms grew in the grass. He dropped the staff and laid down on his back, looking up at the morning sky.

It felt as though he’d come all this way for nothing.

That was ridiculous, of course. He’d gotten all the answers he’d ever wanted and more; he was learning about the world and about himself, and for a brief moment, he’d envisioned a bright and glowing future. Belle was beyond him, of course… but she’d seemed open to his mild affections. He had high hopes of befriending her. Perhaps she’d let him hold her hand in times of hardship, or just because he wanted to.

But this was not his home. He had a village. He had a cottage. He had the remains of a life to pick up… A life that would feel meaningless without his aunts and his fantasies. He didn’t have a life at all.

He felt more like an orphan now than he ever had.

After some time, probably thirty or forty minutes later, Belle found him. She was out of breath, her chest rising and falling, her face flushed with exertion.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for you. Scoot over.” She dropped beside him, close enough to make his heart beat faster. “Those dishes were a nightmare. We’re such pigs... Hey, hey,” she whispered, rolling to her side and seeing the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “What’s the matter, Rumple?”

“I talked to Madame Loup-Garou. I know that you… all of you, you can’t leave.”

“…So?”

“So... doesn’t that make you a little sad? Living this one day over and over? Forever?”

“I could leave here, in 1878. I could make something of myself.”

“It wouldn’t be easy. You could be hurt, Belle. You could be killed.”

“Maybe. You could… you could come too. We could paint this world red, Rumplestiltskin.”

“I’m no use to you. A cripple without a farthing to his name… I’m a coward, Belle. I’ve always been a coward.”

“Well… then stay here. Stay here with me.” She took his hand, interlocking their fingers. She moved closer, her lips just inches from his shoulder. Rumple turned to look at her.

“I… I could? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Why should I mind?”

“Well... I thought you and Victor might…”

“Victor? Gods no. He’s shallow, childish, and more than a little creepy. To me, love is… love is a mystery. It’s an adventure two people take together. It’s about knowing someone from the inside out, and still being bewitched by them day after day. I could never love someone like him. Besides,” she said, adding her other hand to his, stroking over the skin of his wrist with her fingers. “My heart is already a little bewitched.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. He’s kind, and he’s clever, and he’s got an open heart. And his name is Rumplestiltskin.”

Rumple felt flushed from head to toe, with an embarrassing surge to his crotch. “Oh. Oh Belle…” He turned over, reaching up with his free hand to gingerly touch her jaw. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you even a little bit. You’re brave, smart, compassionate… You’re full of life. I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t presume to tell me what I deserve. I decide my fate. Stay with me.”

“Belle-”

“Stay.  With. Me. We can take care of each other.”

“You barely know me. And I barely know you, the real you. I’ve built you up so much, and already I know that those fantasies are cardboard compared to you. What if we don’t work? What if I hurt you or break your heart? So many things could go-”

She silenced him with a kiss, and not to his cheek this time. Her lips were warm against his, but her pressure was firm; she had his lower lip between hers and he gasped when she sucked on it. She used this to her advantage, sliding her tongue into his mouth. He had never been kissed like this, never, and he found himself melting against her, letting her take the lead. She moaned when he caught her bottom lip and nipped it. The hand which had been on her face slid back into her hair, keeping her close.

They kissed for some time, until Belle pulled away, smiling.

“Will you stay?” she asked, sitting up. Rumple followed her lead.

“You really want me to?”

“I do. But… it’s forever. That’s a lot for me to ask from someone that, as you so astutely pointed out, I barely know. And you’re right, something might go wrong. But I’m willing to take a chance on you, Rumplestiltskin, and the goodness I see in your heart. Are you?”

“Forever, then,” he said, extending his hand to close their deal. She took it and, with a squeal, pulled him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and smiled, the smell of her filling his nostrils.

“Come on. Let’s go have an adventure!”

Belle leapt to her feet, and helped Rumple to his. She dragged him all the way back to the house and bounded inside.

“Ruby! Ruby!”

“What is it, Belle?”

“We’re busting out for the afternoon. It’s early winter on his side of the loop,” she said, gesturing to Rumplestiltskin. “Perfect day to jump in piles of leaves, or go on a horse ride!”

“Ooh, that sounds fun. I could even wolf out for a bit.”

“Make sure to take off your clothes. Remember last time?”

“What, you don’t want your new boyfriend seeing me without my knickers?”

“I don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“I’m coming,” Victor said, emerging from around the corner.

Belle rolled her eyes at him. “Is that really necessary?”

“Course it is. Somebody has to protect you lovely ladies.”

“I turn into a wolf and Belle makes fire. We’ll be fine.”

“Then I’ll protect pup here,” he said, throwing his arm around Rumplestiltskin’s shoulders. “We men have to stick together.”

“Alright, you can come,” Belle said, grabbing Rumple’s hand and heading for the door. “Let’s go before the big wolf finds out.”

 

The four slunk out of the house. They walked through the woods to the cairn, Belle and Ruby and Victor telling stories, the girls laughing. He and Victor crawled through the cairn first, in a show of chivalry, and he helped Belle to her feet. She thanked him with a kiss, and he felt himself turn violet. Ruby made an audible gagging noise and Victor whistled.

“Shut up,” Belle said. “There’s a leafy grove behind the house. Let’s go.”

They strolled for about ten minutes before Belle stopped them, grinning excitedly as she started gathering armfuls of leaves. She barked orders like a general, and they helped her build the leaves into a pile almost four feet high. As soon it was done, Ruby skipped away to change, and Victor just disappeared.

“He’s probably looking for animals to kill. He uses their hearts to animate his little clay soldiers; has a whole collection of organs beneath his bed. Now, do I have to jump into this pile on my own?”

“I’m not much of a jumper,” Rumple laughed as Belle made her first dive.

“That’s not a problem,” she panted, standing up and brushing the leaves off. He had leaned against a tree, abandoning his staff for the moment. Belle took both his hands and walked him backwards with her to the pile. “We won’t jump. We’ll just fall.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and his circled her waist on instinct. “You know how to fall, don’t you?”

“I cannae do much, but I could do that.”

“Three… two… one…”

Belle pulled him down with her into the pile. They sent a flurry of orange and red slivers into the air. Belle laughed breathlessly and Rumple realized how close they were. She had pulled him down atop her, and his pelvis was lodged between her thighs. Her hands stroked his shoulders and the back of his neck; his nose was brushing her cheek, and his arms were trapped beneath her.

He felt his heart give out as his breathing turned ragged. Belle felt his change in posture, but didn’t lose her smile. Instead, she widened her knees slightly, shifting her hips to get more comfortable. “It’s been about 60 years since I’ve had anyone to kiss, Rumplestiltskin. I find that I never want to stop.”

“When I was ten I shared a kiss with a girl visiting her grandmother. She never came back after that summer… I guess it was a rubbish kiss.”

“If it was anything like our kiss earlier… it wasn’t the kiss that kept her away.” She captured his lips again, drawing him further down into the bed of leaves.

For moments he felt as though there were nothing more to the world than Belle’s lips, the feel of her in his arms; it was all beyond his wildest dreams.

And then he felt an acute pain in his gut. He pulled away, clutching at his stomach.

“What is it? What’s wrong, Rumple?”

“I don’t know, I-” he trailed off. He felt that there was something in the trees, something right in front of them. When he looked up, he saw something black and shifting, a shadow come to life. It was his worst nightmare.

“What does it look like?” Her pitch dropped, tone serious.

“It’s black,” he muttered, “and… and…” He trailed off, unable to find words. It moved again, drawing closer, and he could see the horrific details unfolding. Its limbs, if you could call them that, oozed as though their flesh was slipping from their bones. He could smell the stink from 20 yards. Long tentacles seemed to be coming from its _mouth_ , and it slapped them against the trees to move forward.

He was totally frozen in fear. His limbs trembled.

“Rumple, we need to go. We need to go! NOW! Rumple, MOVE!” Belle’s hands were pushing his chest, her feet scrambling against the leaves. He climbed to his feet, unsteady, and Belle leapt up. She grabbed his arm, nails digging in, and started running. He stumbled behind, grabbing his cane with his last coherent thought.

“Ruby! Victor!” she screamed as they tore through the woods. “Hollow! Hollow!”

He could hear the thing coming after them, the thwack-schlurp of its tentacled tongue pulling it through the trees.

“The house,” Rumple gasped, “we have to go to the house.”

Belle only nodded, changing their directions slightly. He did his best to follow her steps, but Belle was faster than him. He was holding her back. Finally they broke through the treeline, sprinting towards the abandoned manor.

Bursting into the parlor, Belle pressed herself against the door.

“No, that won’t work,” Rumple gasped, gripping her skirt and tugging. His leg was giving out, and he hobbled down the hall with Belle in tow. He pulled her into Victor’s room and collapsed.

“Rumple!”

“I’m fine,” he said, reaching beneath the bed. He pulled out glass jars and tried not to gag. The chemical stench was overwhelming. “Take these and open them.”

“Why?”

The sound of ripping wood and shattered glass shrieked through the air. The creature was in the house.

“It doesn’t have eyes so it can’t see, but it senses. I think it uses smell; we’re going to confuse it.” He grabbed the rest of the jars and set them on the bed, using the wooden frame to pull himself up. He wedged open the door and took the open jars from Belle, throwing them into the hallway. She passed him each jar as she worked off the lid and he switched sides with each lob, creating a barrier of stench all around them.

When they finished he pulled the door quickly and quietly shut. The creature was plowing through the parlor, crushing and crunching everything in its way. Rumple wrapped his arms around Belle, one hand cupping the back of her head protectively; they curled up beneath the window, against the wall. Rumple tried not to shake too badly.

The creature slowed as it reached the hall. There was a squelching sound that made him quake. After a few moments of creeping uncertainty, the tip of a tentacle-tongue snuck beneath the door. It curled as though tasting the wood, sliding slowly from side to side.

With a rip, its other two tongues punched through the wood at the hinges and suddenly the door was gone, being crushed to bits in the jaws of the beast. Rumple felt a blistering heat as Belle frantically rubbed her hands together, building a fireball in her palms. She shot it at the creature and the door burst into flames; the hollow spit it out as smoke unfurled from it gnashing jaws.

A long tongue snapped out and caught Belle around the ankle. She screamed as she was pulled across the floor. Rumple launched himself across the room; Belle doubled over and grabbed the tongue with both hands. There was the smell of burning rubber as her hands glowed orange, burning through the limb. The creature shrieked, flailing, but Belle didn’t let go. Rumple leapt up and came down atop the hollow, forcing it jaws to close over the tongues.

With a roar it bucked backwards into the hall, smashing Rumplestiltskin against the wall and flinging Belle further into the bedroom. Scrambling to his feet, Rumple moved back towards the parlor.

“Come on you great beast, come and get me!” he hollered. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the thing compose itself, quaking, and turn to follow him. Good, that was good.

He moved as quickly as he could but he had barely broken into the front room before the beast caught him, tentacle around his weak ankle. He hissed in pain and fell, head slamming into the floor. The thing kept approaching as it began to pull Rumple backwards. He reached out to grasp something, anything, and his hand closed around the stand of tools by the fireplace. It toppled over and he grabbed a poker with both hands.

He writhed, contorting to face the monstrous mouth gaping before him. He felt the scrape of teeth as his foot was drawn in. With a muttered prayer, Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. He lunged forward, using every last ounce of his strength, and plunged the poker through the creature’s soft palate.

It screamed and convulsed, but Rumple pushed forward until the sharp metal end broke through the other side, dripping a black goo as thick and odorous as tar. With a few more tremulous shakes, it collapsed.

Rumple, struggling to catch his breath, broke free of its mouth and scrabbled away across the wood floor.

“Belle! Belle?”

There was no response to his cries. He stood on unsteady limbs and stepped around the dead hollow. Back in the bedroom he found Belle unconscious against the far wall. “Belle!” he screamed again, dropping to her side. He slid one hand beneath her head and pulled her into his lap. “Wake up Belle, I need you to wake up. Come on, my love, come back to me.”

She moaned, stirring. “The hollow…”

“It’s dead.”

“There may be more,” she whispered, struggling to her feet with his help. “We’ve got to get back to the house and warn them.”

“Already done.”

The two startled, turning to the window. Victor was there.

“Ruby and I heard you shouting. We warned the house, and came back to fight. Seems we’re a bit late.”

A growl sounded from somewhere outside.

“Rumple killed it,” Belle said, opening the windows and clearing broken bits of glass from the sill. She sat on the frame and Victor helped her climb out.

“All on your own?” he asked, turning to help the spinner. “Wow. That’s impressive.”

“I used your, uh, collection. So you did help,” Rumple said stumbling over the sill as his bad leg gave out beneath him. There was another growl, and Rumple saw Ruby in her wolf form for the first time. She was quite a bit larger than the average wolf, and as she bent beside him, he realized she was big enough to carry a man. She intended to carry him. “That’s alright, Miss Loup-Garou, I don’t need-”

She growled again.

“It’s faster,” Victor said, slinging one of Belle’s arms around his shoulders and wrapping his arm around her waist. “You both just did the unimaginable. Let us get you home.”


	8. Part Two: Chapter 8

“So you can see the hollows,” Madame Loup-Garou said, confirming their story for the second time. “You can sense them?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you killed one on your own?”

“Belle and I killed it.”

“He’s being modest, Headmistress. I was knocked unconscious.”

“Alright, alright,” she muttered, pacing behind her desk. Belle and Rumple were seated in the chairs with Victor lurking behind them. Ruby was off getting dressed. Their supper plates, picked clean, marred her otherwise pristine office floor.

“There may be more on the island. We’ll check your time first, then we’ll sweep the world here as well. Hollows can’t enter the loop, but perhaps one has managed to find us in 1878. Unlikely, but necessary. You’ll rest up tonight, then the two of you will accompany me on the sweep. You for your powers of detection, and you, Miss Bloom, for your fire.”

“What about me?” Victor said. “And Ruby. She’ll want to come as well.”

“I need you both here to protect the children. Your shift will start at first light. I suggest you all get some sleep.”

She ushered them out of her office. Belle, holding his hand, followed Rumple to his room. Madame Loup-Garou cleared her throat. “And where do you suppose you are going, Miss Bloom?”

“I’m not leaving him. And I’m certainly not sleeping alone after today.”

“You know the rules of the house. Mixed gender sleepovers are not allowed; particularly not with your obvious romantic association.”

“Then we’ll sleep on the sofa in the parlor. Public space, you can check on us as often as you like.” Belle gripped his hand more tightly and he followed her down the stairs. The headmistress grumbled in resignation.

Once they were alone, seated side by side, Belle spoke again. “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t either. I feel… I feel different.”

“Different how?”

“I killed something today, Belle. Sure it was trying to eat us, but that doesn’t change what I did. I took a life.”

“You can’t beat yourself up, Rumple. You did the right thing.”

“I’m still different. I’ll always be different. I’ll always remember how it felt to… to stab that thing… the smell of its blood...”

She shushed him, hands cradling his face. She pulled up her legs and draped them across his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her face into his neck. Her back was against the arm of the couch, and he nestled against her, his hands sliding around her hips.

Belle smiled. “If you hadn’t been there, I would have died. You’re a hero.”

“And without you, I’d have been hollow food. So if I’m a hero, you’re a hero.”

“We’ll be heroes, then,” she said, nuzzling his neck.

With a little wiggling, they found a comfortable position and drifted off to sleep.

They did the rounds the following morning at sun up just as Madame Loup-Garou had ordered; Rumple’s ankle still hurt from the day before, but he didn’t complain as they walked the entire length of the island, zigzagging through the sleepiest parts of town. He’d never seen anything more beautiful than Belle in the orange glow of the sunrise.

When they crossed back through the loop and started to do it for a second time, however… He could hardly stand. Madame Loup-Garou insisted on carrying him, which hurt his pride almost more than he could bear, but their search yielded the best possible results. There were no more hollows on the island, in 1878 or 1941.

Once they were back in her office and she was properly clothed, the headmistress addressed the two. “It seems that this monster was an aberration, something for which we can only be thankful. We’ll remain on high alert for the time being. Thank you both for your service.”

Belle stood to go, taking his hand automatically, but Rumple stayed seated. “Actually, I need to talk to the Headmistress. I’ll see you downstairs, Belle.”

“Oh… right.”

The young woman shut the door behind her.

“What is it you need, Rumplestiltskin?”

“...How many hollows do you think there are in the world?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess.”

“How many do you suppose there are in the area? Wales, Scotland, Ireland, England?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because for every one that manages to get here by accident, there are at least a score actively hunting for this place. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And there are other loops that are also being hunted, also full of children whose lives are in danger.”

“This is all true. Is there a point to it?”

“…You talked about common and rare gifts. Where does mine fall?”

“You are on the rarer end of the spectrum.”

Rumplestiltskin wrung his hands, staring at the floor. “I’m not a fighter. I’m a coward… But I could help, couldn’t I? I could make a difference. I can see them.”

Madame Loup-Garou sighed. “Seeing them won’t do you much good if they kill you.”

“I’ll join the army. Get trained.”

“With your leg?”

“As a cook, or something. I could get trained, and I could travel, and I could hunt hollows. I could make a real difference.”

“Risking your life two times over.” She moved around the desk to stand in front of him. “That’s not a choice a coward would make.”

He stood. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

There was a thunk from outside the door, and the sound of pounding feet down the hall.

“Oh dear. I fear Miss Bloom may have been listening in.”

Rumple left the office in time to see her whipping out of the house, hand over her face. He made to follow her, but Ruby’ hand on his arm in the parlor stopped him.

“It’s best to let her think. Trust me, I’ve been living with her for sixty years. We’ve had our share of fights.”

He waited for her in the parlor, nearly four hours, as night fell and time ticked forward, until Madame Loup-Garou ushered him into his room with a stern face. He undressed for bed and climbed in, but he couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling.

Sometime later, his door opened. He sat upright as a hand bearing a candle came into view.

“Belle?”

“It’s me,” she whispered, closing the door silently behind her.

“Look, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t apologize,” she said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“I have to. I promised-”

“Please,” she said, voice ragged. He could see she’d been crying and was in fear of starting again. “Please don’t.” She reached down and took his hand, drawing it up to sit over her heart. “When you go, you’re taking this with you. And that’s fine, I’ll live without it, but I want something of yours to hold onto.” Setting the candle on the nightstand, Belle leaned close until their lips were just an inch apart. Her nose brushed his, and her jaw quivered. She was waiting for him to close the gap.

He pressed his lips to hers and hoped that they could convey a quarter, a tenth of his feeling for her. She kissed him back. For long minutes it was gentle and tender, until Belle sighed softly and pulled away. She stood and began to untie her dressing gown. Rumple felt as though the air was being sucked from the room. Biting her lower lip, she let the fabric fall, and he found that she was entirely naked underneath.

This was definitely heaven.

Belle lifted the corner of his blanket and slipped in beside him. He scooted over to make room. Every brush of her exquisite, pale, naked skin against his set him on fire. He was breathless, speechless, and shaking. His eyes didn’t know where to look; Belle put her hand on his jaw and pulled his gaze back to hers.

“I need a piece of you. Please?”

He studied her blue eyes, so bright and uncertain, as if this weren’t the defining moment of his life. He nodded, leaning close to kiss her. His beautiful Belle. As their kisses grew more passionate, his hand found a life of its own. Still shaking, it settled on her hip –her soft, naked hip- and his thumb stroked over her skin. After a while it began to move up and down, over her side, down to her thigh, back again. When he stroked high and his thumb brushed across her nipple, Belle gasped and pressed closer against him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes straying down to where his hand cupped the gentle swell of her breast. She was bloody perfect.

“Don’t be,” she whispered, “that felt lovely. You don’t have to be so gentle with me, Rumple.”

“Have you… erm... done this before?”

“No, never. You?”

“Never.”

Belle smiled at him, eyes crinkling. “Then it will be extra special.” Placing her hand atop his, she guided him to squeeze her breast. He watched her teeth dig into her lower lip, biting the pink flesh. His mouth went dry.

She let go of his hand, burying her fingers in his hair as she drew him in for a passionate kiss. He grew bolder, caressing the soft skin of her breast, fingers plucking at her nipple. His movements, although a little clumsy, seemed to please her. Belle’s moans and sighs drove him on. He reached up to touch the column of her neck. His calloused fingers sent goosebumps across her skin; gently, he explored her collarbone and shoulder, all the way up to her jaw. He would have liked to explore these places with his lips, but she seemed to have claimed his lips for the time being. Her hands carded through his hair and made his scalp tingle.

He moved from her breast to her bottom, splaying his hand across a cheek. Massaging the flesh, her noises became needier and her kisses more insistent. When he scraped the skin lightly with his nails, she squeaked.  With a smile she rolled atop him, straddling his lap and sitting up, the blanket caught about her shoulders.

“You’ve seen all of me,” she whispered, and indeed his eyes were drawn down to the patch of dark brown curls that pressed against his skivvies. “Now I want to see you.” Bending down and scooting backwards, Belle moved until her face was aligned with his abdomen.

“I’m nothing to see,” he said as her fingers undid the little row of buttons on his underwear. Her hands kept grazing his already hard length, and he whimpered.

“I doubt that very much.” Undone, she coaxed his boxers down and tugged them down off over his feet. She was much more interested in his cock, which had sprung to attention in its freedom. A bead of precum wet the head. Belle, smiling, licked it off and Rumple couldn’t suppress his groan. He had to bite his hand when she pulled him into her mouth, running her tongue along the underside of his shaft.

He was already sweating, dying as she sucked on his cock. She was just as inexperienced as he, a little clumsy as she bobbed her head, but all the experience in the world didn’t make a difference with the beautiful Belle humming around him. She let him go with a pop and tilted her head to kiss his balls. She wrapped her hand around the base of him and he bucked into her touch.

“Alright, you’ve had enough fun,” he said, reaching down and taking her other hand. He didn’t admit it, but any more of that and he’d be done too soon.

He drew her up to his chest. When she was settled atop him, he rolled, carefully adjusting their positions so that he was on top. With a wicked grin, he kissed her chest. He moved slowly, deliberately, placing kisses across both breasts before burying his head between them. She smiled and laughed softly, fingers of one hand stroking through his hair. He worked down her abdomen, kissed each hip and finally arrived at the nest of curls.

This was the moment he had oft dreamed of, made real.

With his hands on her thighs he coaxed her to widen her legs. Unsure of how to begin, he nosed his way to her core, inhaling her smell. Flicking out his tongue he licked along her seam, parting her labia and collecting some of the wetness that had begun to pool there. She tasted divine.

Belle let out a series of short, pleased gasps, her hand tightening in his hair. He explored a little, using his thumbs to open her up as much as possible and stroke the soft skin on the edges of her vulva. He traced the labia, noticing how she moaned when he grazed her clit. Focusing his attention on the little nub, she bucked.

“Oh Gods… that’s so good, Rumple!”

He moved way, spent some time seeking out the little spots that made her sigh or twitch. He drew out the suspense, moving almost all the way back to her clit and feeling her tense in anticipation before pulling away to circle her entrance. After a few such teases, she groaned and tugged his hair until he looked up at her.

“Quit teasing me. I’m dying.”

“As my lady wishes,” he said, swell of pride lighting up his face. He returned to her clit, kissing the swollen bud before circling it with his tongue. He tried out a few different rhythms: slow and deliberate, quick and erratic, quickly from side to side. She seemed to like his more careful movements, so he alternated speeds but stuck to intentional patterns. Side to side, up and down, circles…He could have stayed between her legs for months. Soon her breathing became heavier, her whines more desperate, and when he gently touched her entrance with his middle finger, feeling how warm and wet and welcoming she was, he couldn’t resist the temptation to slide the whole digit in.

Belle came. Rumple was transfixed by the sensation of her fluttering around his finger, the way she tasted as he lapped up her juices. Delicious. Delightful. His.

He waited until her breathing evened and her manic giggles subsided. She reached out both hands for him. He crawled back up the bed, laying just beside her so as not to crush the poor girl. With his free hand he traced patterns on her rib cage.

“That was very nice,” she whispered, running her hands across his shoulders. “Are you ready for…for... well, you know.”

He nodded, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat. “A-Are you?”

She bit her lip, grinning. “Absolutely.”

He rolled atop her again, putting his weight on his forearms. He shifted his hips as he arranged himself between her thighs. Belle reached down and stroked his length, guiding him to her entrance. They locked eyes as he pushed in, Belle’s walls welcoming his cock. His lips parted, brow furrowing as he groaned. Belle hands clutched at his arms, hips tilting to accommodate him more easily. He sheathed himself in her, panting.

“I’m sorry, does it hurt?”

“No, no,” she gasped, bringing a hand to stroke his cheek. “It’s just new. I saw how big you are, but it feels… I feel full,” she smiled. “I feel whole.” Belle drew him down for a kiss. After a few moments of adjustment, she encouraged him to start moving.

It was awkward at first, the pair struggling to find a rhythm that worked. Belle wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and locked her ankles. She guided him to make short, deep thrusts. Rumple panted with their rocking motions, holding himself as low and close to her as he could. He placed sloppy open-mouthed kisses across her shoulder and neck as he drove into her, heeding her cries of “More!” and “Deeper, please!”

Rumple didn’t have the vocabulary to describe the sensation of Belle wrapped around him. Her scent in his nostrils, the taste of her in his mouth… the more obvious intimate connection between them. He laughed, smiling against her collarbone. This was home.

Belle buried one hand in his hair. “Oh Gods, Rum, yes! Right there… Oh Rumple!” She was whining, writhing around him, and rocking her hips with each of his strokes. He felt a burst of animalistic pleasure with each slap of flesh on flesh. He realized he was quickly reaching his peak and slowed, raising himself up to look at her without completely stopping.

“Tell me how to please you, Belle.”

“You are pleasing me,” she panted.

“No, I mean, I’m close. And before I… you know… I want you to again.”

It was Belle’s turn to laugh, stroking his cheeks with both hands. He felt a warmth radiating from her hands. “You are too generous.”

“I want to feel you,” he growled, hips snapping into her with exaggerated vigor. She gasped loudly and one hand snaked back to clutch the back of his neck.

“Here,” she whispered, taking his hand and drawing it down to where they were joined. She pressed his fingers against her clit and immediately shivered at the pleasure. “Right here.”

“Got it,” he whispered, leaning down for a kiss. He let his lips linger on hers as he resumed their earlier fast pace with his hips. He rubbed clumsily at the little nub and, though it threw off his rhythm, it was enough to have Belle swearing against his lips, fingers tightening in his hair, and muscles clenching around his cock. The sensation was overwhelming to Rumplestiltskin; with a few more shuddering thrusts and a breathless cry, he came inside her.

He collapsed, shifting his weight to one side to avoid crushing the beautiful Peculiar girl. Belle rolled with him, keeping one hand in his soft brown hair, her lips seeking out his for a searing kiss. His free arm wrapped around her as he kissed her back, his tongue more bold than it had been before. It was messy and passionate, much like the wetness on the sheets and their bodies. Belle pulled away for air and they both smiled.

“That was wonderful,” he rasped, placing tender kisses to her forehead, temples, cheeks, eyelids, and nose.

“Something for me to keep. Something just us.”

He felt the sadness creeping in. Grabbing the blanket from where it had gathered at the foot of the bed, he drew it up and around them, pulling Belle more snugly into his embrace. “I could sleep for a thousand years,” he said, blatantly changing the topic.

“Then rest,” she said, settling in to his side. Her fingers stroked gently through his hair. In no time, he was asleep.

She was gone by the time he woke. The only proof that it had happened were the soiled sheets and the niggling ache in his chest like he had lost something, was leaving something behind. He dressed in the first light and joined the children for breakfast. Belle did not attend.

They gathered on the lawn to say goodbye. Madame Loup-Garou gave him a rucksack with his old clothes and some provisions. Victor had made him a miniature first aid kit and presented it proudly, punching him on the arm as a token of friendship. The others offered him a handshake or a piece of advice. Belle didn’t come forward until the last minute.

They both dreaded this. Rumplestiltskin swallowed heavily. Belle stepped forward and wrapped him in her arms.

“I wish you could come with me,” he whispered, holding her close.

“But you know that I can’t, and you’re still going.” She pulled back to look him in the eye. “Will you ever come back?”

“The minute I can. The second even.”

“Then I’ll see you someday. Don’t forget me,” she said, stepping back.

He frowned. “I could never.”

Belle bit her lip and shook her head, as though she had more to say. Instead she just turned and walked back into the house, Ruby on her heels.

With no more fanfare, Rumplestiltskin started walking toward the cairn.


	9. Part Three: Chapter Nine

Rumplestiltskin stepped off the boat and tossed the sack of coins to the ferryman. The point of his cane did nothing for him on the sand, but once he reached the path to town, it was able to help. He moved a lot faster than the last time he’d been here. The British Army had trained him well; or rather, the soldiers had. To the Army he was just a cook, and a bad one at that, but he’d been able to make friends and he’d been able to convince those friends that he needed to fight. To defend himself against enemies, Nazis and the like. To defend against the Officers who picked on him for sport. To fight the hollows.

He’d wound up traveling the whole of the British Isles, and his presence had the fortunate effect of drawing out hollows everywhere he went. There’d been a few close calls, some closer than he cared to remember, but he was still standing. He’d stabbed and sliced and shot and bludgeoned every one he could find, and with each kill the magnetic pull of his gut lessened, until it was almost completely gone. He’d even learned how to see the wights; teenage Rumple had worked hard to fly under the radar, and he knew how to spot someone who didn’t want to be noticed.

After seven years, he retired. Belle’s picture had lived in his uniform for too long, and he longed to see her face again. There was just one thing to do first…

He’d made a stop in his former village on the way back to Cairnholm. He packed up the things he wanted in an old bag –photos, mostly, and some tonics, scarves, trinkets- and left everything else for scavengers. Before he got very far, though, he felt that old familiar tingle.

His hunt took him nearly thirty miles to the east, past the place where his aunts’ tattered capes had signaled their demise. Like a knight he stalked the feeling, tracking it to a flat above a tavern in Perth. Three wights, dangerous wights, and their pet hollow.

He’d taken no pleasure in cornering them, killing them one by one with a tactical advantage. But he had learned a lot.

Reaching the town of Cairnholm, Rumple pushed all thoughts of his gruesome life from his mind. He didn’t want to be that person anymore, didn’t want to know what it felt like to skewer a wight on a bayonet or brain a hollow on a steak knife. There was only one place he might be able to forget it all.

He walked until sunset. Reaching the cairn as the sun disappeared behind the trees, he took a moment’s pause. Seven years. Seven years he’d been waiting for this moment. There was nothing to do but walk through.

His feet carried him all the way to the house at a disproportionately fast pace given his age and the fact that he’d been walking all day. The door was thrown open before he reached it, familiar faces grinning at him, familiar hands drawing him into the parlor. The familiar stern voice of Madame Loup-Garou scolding the children and directing Rumplestiltskin to her office – so many familiarities, and none of them Belle’s. Not her face, not her voice, not her hands.

Her non-presence buzzed around him like so much white noise. It sat in his ears like cotton, and the headmistress had to call for his attention three times before he looked at her.

“So, Rumplestiltskin… you’ve returned.”

He sat in a familiar chair and nodded. “May I stay here?”

“Insomuch as it’s up to me, yes. But I think we both know my opinion is not the only one that matters.”

“Where is she?

“In town running an errand. She’ll be back soon.”

“So we have a little time to talk.”

“Yes.” The headmistress sat behind her desk and waited, giving him the space to begin a difficult conversation.

“I joined the army, like we discussed. I’m a terrible cook, but I’m grateful they took me. I learned to fight, and I honed my gift; how to sense the hollows, track them… I can even control them, but only temporarily. I never, ah, never learned how to save them,” he said, clearing his throat and adjusting his hands in his lap. “I became a killer.”

“…And wights?” she asked. “What of them?”

“I killed them too. I killed every one I found.” Another pregnant pause filled the air while Rumplestiltskin pondered how best to continue. “Can I ask you a question, Madame Loup-Garou?”

“You may.”

“When I told you about my aunts, did you ever suspect that their disappearances were… unusual?”

She cleared her throat.

“In seven years of tracking these things, of talking to people and watching, I never heard any stories like mine. No clues like that were left. Hollows on their own don’t bother, and wights… wights tend to prefer to let the disappearance speak for itself. A smudge of blood on the floor is their style, if they choose to leave anything at all. Never did I see the… the malice, the _intention_ , of shredded cloaks hung from a tree. That was a particular cruelty, don’t you think?”

“…Or a warning.”

“…Exactly.”

“And what did you find?” she asked, pitch rising.

The silence was grim and palpable.

“You said you had brothers.” He touched the scar on his chest. It still hurt nearly a month later.

“I do.”

“You did.”

The headmistress gave a slow nod and stood, beginning to pace. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. They were responsible for many deaths. I’m just glad that you’re not one of them.”

“Not for lack of trying. Did you… Do you know why they would warn me so cryptically? Was it even _meant_ for me?”

“I don’t know. I’d rather not venture into the minds of psychopaths, Rumplestiltskin.” She turned once more to face him. “And besides, I’m afraid we’ve run out of time to talk. Miss Bloom is arriving downstairs.”

Rumple stood and, with a curt nod to the woman, tried not to run onto the landing like a child. He peered over the bannister just as the door opened, chattering children dragging Belle into the parlor.

“Belle! You’ll never guess!”

“He’s back! And he got old…”

“What do you mean?” Belle asked, her voice so kind and patient that Rumple felt himself melting just to hear her. “Who’s back?”

So slowly as to be painful, Belle turned her head and looked up, lips parting in surprise to see him at the top of the stairs. And then her eyelids fluttered, her brow furrowing, and she dropped her basket. She was back out the door before he’d had a chance to open his mouth.

He ran down the stairs, shifting his grip on his cane to the shaft so that he could carry it as he ran. Belle dashed into the forest, a slip of purple amongst the browns and greens. She disappeared just as he hit the tree line. He slowed, his leg aching. Limping and panting, he moved slowly through the brush, calling her name softly as he looked.

“Belle? Belle… Oh Belle.” He found her curled against the rough bark of a tree in a very familiar little clearing, where a ring of mushrooms danced in the gentle breeze. Her body was racked with silent sobs. He dropped to his knees and crawled towards her.

“Oh God, Belle. I’m so sorry. Please, please just stay. I need to apologize. I… I…”

He was once more robbed of speech. For a few long moments they sat in quiet, Belle’s ragged breathing the only thing he could hear. This was not how it should be.

“I must have planned this moment a thousand times. All the things I would say to somehow make it better, all the begging I would do… That all feels so cheap now. All wrong. I’m always wrong when I think about you, because you’re… you’re… you’re real. You’re so real and so good. And I’m not, Belle, I’m not good. I’m a coward and a killer; I betrayed you,” he said, tears pushing to get out. “I broke a promise, the promise I made in this very spot! And as much as I want to be forgiven, I don’t deserve it. I can’t, _won’t_ ask you for forgiveness. All I can ask for is… well, is hope. Is there any hope, any chance, that someday… someday could you forgive me? With enough penance?”

He finished his little speech and watched her. Her breaths were shallow and she squeaked a little with each one, dragging her hands across her face before looking up at him. As soon as they made eye contact her lip began to tremble again, a fresh load of tears threatening to burst forth.

“Seven years. Seven years you’ve been gone! And I felt every one of them here,” she cried, beating her chest. “Seven years!” Sobs overtook her again.

“I know, sweetheart, I know and I’m so sorry,” he said, scrambling forward. He curled at her side and took her hand in both of his, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“S- Seven years of n-not knowing… if you were dead or alive! Seven years o-of not knowing if, if you felt the same… if you felt the way I do.”

He stroked her cheek. How could the brave and beautiful Belle have such self-doubts? Screwing his courage to the sticking place, he decided on a course of unbridled honesty. “I have loved you with my every breath since we met. I felt it every day my love, every beat and pulse of your heart in my chest begging me to come home. You’re why I came back. You’re my home.”

She sobbed again, tremulous hands reaching up to touch his hair. Winding her arms around his neck, she whispered, “I love you, Rumplestiltskin.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a squeeze. “Oh, please say that again.”

“I love you. Did… did you know? That I…?”

“I hoped. I figured, after our last night, that you couldn’t be totally indifferent to me.” She giggled. “But no… I told you I’m a coward. That includes affairs of the heart.”

“My heart or yours?”

He pulled his head back just enough to brush his lips across her cheek, then returned his forehead to hers. “Both, I guess.”

“One of the drawbacks of being eternally 17 is that my emotions tend to be tempestuous. Tears, smiles, love… it all comes so fast.”

“You’re not really 17.”

“I’m as much 17 as I am 87.”

“And I’m 32. _Thirty-two_. So am I nearly twice your age, or nearly 1/3 of it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only if it matters to you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“May I kiss you?” Rumple asked.

Belle tipped her chin up, bringing her lips to his. She captured his bottom lip between hers and savored the slow, sweet kiss. Then she took another, and another, until both had lost track of how many times their lips met and parted in bliss.

Finally they parted, and breathed, and almost smiled.

“I missed that,” Belle said.

“I think I owe you seven year of kisses.”

“No... I’d rather say that we have a lot of catching up to do.”

Rumple sighed, cupping her jaw in his hand. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. He leaned forward, but Belle met him halfway and continued to push until he was flat on his back and she was on top. Belle began to kiss him harder, more messily, running her tongue along the edge of his teeth. He groaned, hands finding her hips. She straddled his lap, grinding against him. When her fingers flew to the buttons along the front of her dress, Rumple stopped her, his hands circling her wrists.

“Wait. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Belle twisted until their fingers were intertwined. She raised his arms and pinned his hands above his head, lips just centimeters from his.

“I don’t want to waste any more time.”

She kissed him forcefully, as if to impress upon him the urgency of lost years. She finished unbuttoning the front of her dress, sitting up to slip it down over her shoulders, letting it fall to bunch at her hips. Rumple swore.

He touched her reverently. “I imagined this often,” he whispered, palming her breasts. Belle arched into his touch, sighing.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, sliding her own hand down to cup his growing member. “Did you touch yourself when you thought of me?”

It became difficult for him to swallow. When he didn’t immediately respond, she gave him a squeeze.

“Well?”

“Y-Yes.”

“How often?”

“Two, maybe three times a week.”

Belle moaned, grinding down with her hand still trapped between them. He bucked and she laughed as she was briefly lifted into the air. She leaned down again, kissing along his jaw and nipping his earlobe. “I thought of you, too. Every time I slipped my fingers inside or played with my clit,” she said, twisting her hand to cup her own sex in illustration, knuckles still brushing him through his trousers. “I thought of you; of your fingers, of your tongue and your cock.”

He bucked again, and Belle let out a soft, joyful cry. She buried her free hand in his hair, pressing kisses to his stubbled cheek. “I imagined us in so many different lives… Like you riding up to the house on a great white steed and pulling me into your lap, kissing my neck and bringing me off with just your index finger while we rode through the countryside. Sometimes I joined the army with you as a nurse, and at night we’d meet under the stars and just hold hands until the sun came up. Sometimes we were in peril and you saved me from near death, or vice versa.

“I’ve imagined so many different things, but none of them were you. You’re real. I want that. I want you.”

Belle dragged her lips across his, waiting for him to make it a kiss. He did, hands sliding over her ribs to trail up and down along her spine. When the kiss ended, they both smiled.

“You’re a miracle,” Rumple whispered.

“Why?”

“Because… you love me.”

“I do,” she said, smirking and stroking his chest, nudging his shirt up and open.

“And I believe you. I actually believe you.”

“You love me too, right?”

“Of course.”

“So what’s so hard to believe?”

“I… I imagined you. You imagined me. Now here we are, and there’s a chance we might actually be happy. It’s too good, too good to be real.”

Sitting up with a patient sigh, she took one of his hands and placed it over her naked heart. “Do you feel that beat?”

“Yes.”

“That’s hope. That’s love, an eternal optimist. We could be happy, I can forgive you. It’s as real as my beating heart; and while I might need some time, I don’t need space. I can’t stand to be apart from you one more minute. Do you want me to go?”

“No,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. All of him, heart and mind and…. other parts… wanted her.

“Then you have to believe in me,” she said. She smiled, with a mischievous quirk in the corner of her lips. “And you have to get me out of my knickers.”

Rumple laughed. “That’s the easy part.” He rolled, tipping Belle into the grass and covering her body with his. Letting his cares and worries dissolve, he kissed her neck, her chest, her breasts, her stomach. He grabbed her dress and her panties and wriggled backwards, pulling them free and knocking her shoes loose as she drew up her legs to help. She smiled and laughed, biting her lower lip.

He crawled back into place above her and kissed her with renewed vigor. Her nimble fingers set to work on the buttons of his trousers. Soon she had his pants and underwear around his thighs, cock heavy against her lower abdomen. He moved down, tip teasing her folds.

Then her hands were on his chest and she was pushing him back. “Oh no, if I’m naked under the stars, then so are you, buddy!” She sat up and tugged his shirt off over his head. He struggled to get his shoes and pants off, and wound up on his back, kicking at the fabric bunched around his ankles. Belle took advantage of his struggle to straddle him again, dragging her vulva along his shaft.

Her head fell back and she moaned. He could feel her wetness and her warmth, and he swore when she pressed down, his hips bucking instinctively. “That’s my good boy,” she murmured, sliding along his length. She lined them up and bit her lip.

He growled, probably the most animalistic sound he’d ever made, and looked up at her stunning blue eyes. She slid down onto him once they’d locked eyes, her mouth opening and a holy moan escaping her lips. “Oh fuck…oh yes,” she panted as she settled atop him, circling her hips to take him as deep as possible.

“Belle,” he rasped, dragging his hands up her thighs.

“Yes my love?”

“Please,” he whined, hips tilting under her. He needed her to be ready, to take the lead. She could make a beggar of him any day, if she pleased.

“Yes,” she whispered, rocking up and then back, settling against him with the slap of flesh on flesh. She sped up incrementally until they found a happy pace, Rumple raising his hips to meet her each time she sank down. She gasped and cried, such soft, sweet sounds that Rumple felt bad for groaning in such a rough way. He tried to be delicate as he touched her, one hand squeezing her hip and the other holding her breast. His fingers pinched her nipple so that it was pulled taut each time she bounced.

She bent down over him, hips rocking as he slid slowly in and out of her. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she scrambled for more friction, her movements jerky and desperate. She whined as he kneaded her breast, other hand doing the same to her hip. He was beginning to feel the same need for change.

“Rumple,” she whimpered.

“Yes,” he rasped in response. Locking his arm around her back, he flipped them, keeping himself buried between her thighs. He adjusted to the new posture, finding a rhythm with his hips that drove deep enough to satisfy them both.

Belle keened, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. She pinned him to her body, one hand tight in the hair above his neck.

“Oh yes, yes! Gods, Rumple,” Belle cried, feeling herself draw close to orgasm.

“Belle… my sweet Belle!” he growled, gently biting her neck. He kissed over the spot, open-mouthed, letting his lips drag across her skin.

“Say it again,” she moaned.

“Gorgeous Belle, intelligent Belle, kind sweet wonderful Belle!”

“Yours,” she gasped. “Oh Fuck! Rumple, my soldier...”

“My Belle, mine, _mine_.” He whispered it reverently. It was more a prayer than a statement of possession; she didn’t belong to him, but she had chosen him. He buried himself in her over and over again, relishing the moment when she tilted her hips to meet him and his balls slapped against her slick flesh.

He pulled one arm free and slid it between their bodies, pressing a knuckle against her clit. He rubbed it back and forth erratically until she came apart around him with a ragged cry. She threw one of her hands to the side; a blue light shone from her palm and the grass burned in her grip. Her walls spasmed around his cock, squeezing. With a few more thrusts he came, spurting into her, their fluids mingling.

They lay together, panting. Rumple pulled out gingerly and dropped to his side, Belle reaching out and taking his hand. The cool night breeze felt marvelous on their heated bodies.

“That was… _wonderful_ ,” Belle said, smile lighting up her face.

“I’d hoped to last longer,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Nonsense. We’re out of practice.” She rolled to face him. “The more we fuck, the better we’ll get.”

He felt his cock twitch at her vulgarity and was surprised. “Oh? Is that scientific?”

“It’s common sense,” she said, snuggling against his side and drawing a finger down his jaw. She kissed him. “Anything worth doing right takes practice.”

“When should we get started?” He smiled at her, caressing her rump. He kissed her again, a little stronger, and when they parted, she beamed at him.

“I think we better go break the news to Madame Loup-Garou.”

“Oh? What news is that?” Belle slipped away and reached for her clothes. She started to get dressed.

“That you’re staying. In my room. And that they should be wary of accidental fires,” she smirked, looking down at the scorched earth.

“Think we can find a bigger bed?”

“We can at least tie two together.” She grinned again, chucking his clothes at him piece by piece. “Get dressed, soldier! We’ve got a life to start.”

Shimmying into her dress, Belle started to walk slowly back through the forest. Rumple pulled on his pants as fast as humanly possible, shoving on his shoes and loping after her.

This was looking to be an extraordinary life, indeed.


End file.
